


There Is Life Still

by drowsyfantasy



Series: Life’s Stories [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baby Fic, Discussion of Abortion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, graphic depictions of Koltira's innards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowsyfantasy/pseuds/drowsyfantasy
Summary: It doesn't matter how it happened - it just did. Koltira discovers that somehow, his long-dead body is still capable of producing something good and alive and maybe that's too much for him to take right now, considering his circumstances.





	1. Chapter 1

The ghoulish Apothecary that he'd gone to had an awful bedside manner.

In life, the man had been a doctor for the living, and now he served the greater purpose of the Scourge. Koltira found himself not the first time this week, laid out on a table on his back staring at the ceiling. This, however, was much less fun than before.

"Lay still," hissed the voice from between his knees, "quit _twitching_ . I've already numbed the area, you shouldn't be able to feel _anything_ at all."

"Apologies..." Koltira said vaguely, blinking and trying to fix his gaze on a point somewhere in the moldy-looking ceiling above him. Anything to take his mind off the open-gut surgery below.

For the last few weeks, he'd been experiencing pain, nausea, listlessness, and just a general sense of unease and awful _tiredness_. Things had come to a head when he'd woken up yesterday - _woken up_ _from a complete sleep_  by Thassarian, who had roughly shoved him until he'd regained consciousness.

Dead men don't sleep. At least, not like that.

And so he'd shoved himself off to one of the various Scourge who were designated healers, ones who had done it in life. Anywhere from dabbling in bandage-making to straight-up surgeons. You started at the lowest guy for triage, and they would move you on to whomever you needed. Usually it was someone to re-attach a limb or perform sutures, but this was an internal specialist. Someone to try and figure out if he'd picked up a parasite or something. Hard to imagine, considering he didn't need to eat or drink.

Something pulled and Koltira's mind snapped back. "Ow," he proclaimed, even though the sensation he was feeling wasn't _pain_ , per se.

"Oh, quit being a..." the doctor's voice trailed off into nothingness, stammering from his lips like they weren't falling off, "...baby?"

"I am not a child," the elf shot back at him, staring determinedly at a green-black drip point on a cinderblock high above him.

"Baby," the voice came again.

"Now who's being childish?" Koltira snapped, anger starting to congeal in his chest. He had always had a quick temper, though he suspected most of it was genetic. His family weren't known for their patience, and those that were - well, they were legendary. "Stop calling me names and finish your examination! I have work to do."

"Baby," the doctor repeated, and this time Koltira heard the waver in his voice, the uncertain pause. “You’re having a baby.”

There was a moment of long, horrible silence.

“Very funny,” he finally said, snarling to break the tension, sitting up. Koltira looked down; if he hadn’t been dead for years the sight would have killed him. The first thing he saw was his own stomach; slit just above his hipbones and the skin peeled back like layers of onion. At least one of his internal organs (his bladder, perhaps?) had been completely removed and was sitting on a small scale to the left with its little tubes dangling like tentacles. Metal hooks and clips held his lower belly wide open for examination, everything shiny and glossy with whatever liquid still oozed through his vessels and viscera. “What’s _actually_ wrong with me?”

“Koltira Deathweaver, you are _pregnant_.” the doctor met his eyes and shook his head. “Though for my death I’ve no idea how.”

“If you say I’m with child _one more time_ , I-”

“ _Look_.” the doctor took something, a long metal scoop-like object, and dug around a little, lifting something up. Not completely out, but up. It was the size of one of his fingers, perhaps, the small one. It was wet and tiny and _pink_ , a stark contrast against the slate-gray of his innards. “Looks like it’s been here for a while. I’d put you at twelve weeks, putting the ridiculousness of this whole thing aside…”

Koltira could just stare. The little pink lump wasn’t a lump; it was a clear shape and form and if he squinted he could see fingers and _toes_ and -

“For fuck’s sake, where did it come from!?” he felt bile rising in his throat. Had someone cursed him? Did someone stitch it inside him while he slept? How could such an impossible thing be?

“Probably the old-fashioned way, considering how much you and Thassarian-”

“What I do on my own time is my own business!” the High elf squawked indignantly, then returned to look at the little pink thing. “I may not be a doctor, but two men can’t make a baby. I don’t have the equipment for that. And if you even _think_ such a thing -”

“I had best keep it to myself," he said, in a sublime tone. "Then perhaps it’s someone’s idea of a magical revenge. Or blessing, who knows. In any case, I’ll remove it right away. Can’t have morning sickness interfering with the duties of one of the Lord’s high-ranking Death Knights…” the doctor was brandishing a shiny pair of steel cutters, casually moving closer and closer to the little pink thing. No, the little pink thing’s cords.

 _This is connected to me. This is part of me. Don’t-_ “I can’t let you cut it out of me,” Koltira blurted out, one hand shooting up and grabbing the doctor by his wrist. Surprised, the other man looked up at him, rotted mouth still open. The elf could swear he saw a worm in one of those teeth. _Unhygienic. Why is he the surgeon?_ “It’s _alive._ ”

“You and I kill the living every day, how is this any different?” the doctor arched an eyebrow. Still, he didn’t move any closer to the pink lump, didn’t fight the Death Knight’s grip.

“Because it’s _mine_.” the wheels were turning in his head. _Mine and Thassarian’s. By fuck, we’re going to have a baby._ “Put it back, and tell me what I need to do to _keep_ it.”

The doctor considered, then nodded. “Very well. Let go of my hand and I’ll do my best.” Once freed of the cold grasp, he put down the cutters and began to make more of a nest for the little pink thing. “It’s feeding off your energy instead of food, for nutrition. In order to keep you healthy enough for both of you, I’ll mix up some supplements and give them as injections. Little thing seems to know what it needs and doesn’t need - it’s definitely not un-dead, and it’s somehow getting enough oxygen to keep itself there.”

“Oxygen? Air…” Koltira’s mind was racing in a million directions at once. He didn't breathe unless he needed to speak, didn't eat or drink anything (well, his stomach could handle blood and the occasional piece of flesh, but it didn't  _go_ anywhere after that, just sort of...dissolved into his body), and his lifestyle certainly didn't keep him safe. “How do I keep the little thing alive?”

“Well, for starters, I’ll give you those injections. You’ll need to come by once a week for them, and I’ll open you up and give an exam, make sure the thing is still growing properly. Speaking of growing, I’ll need to give you skin grafts or it’ll split you right open while you’re not paying attention. Dead skin doesn’t stretch well.” the doctor shook his head. “You’re going to have a patchwork quilt of a belly for the next few months, if this thing takes the typical amount of time developing.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the vanity in his heart panged, but something else shushed it. Preservation of something new, something _alive_. What a novelty. He still had to tell Thassarian. “Anything else I should know?”

“You probably shouldn’t tell anyone.” the doctor was stitching him up again, smoothing over the area before muttering a healing spell. Itching prickled as the sensation returned and the skin held fast. “You’ll be showing soon, and it’ll be harder to hide.”

“Why shouldn’t I tell…” he considered. As the doctor had pointed out, it shouldn’t be here, for multiple reasons - not least of which it technically _was_ a parasite, draining him of vital resources for the Scourge. “Ah.” Koltira winced. “When will it be viable enough to take out permanently?”

“Three months.” he was making some notes. “Starting now, of course. Anywhere from twenty-six weeks onwards and it’s almost a certainty. I could push it to twenty-four weeks, but it’s a fifty-fifty shot that the thing will survive at that point. And it’ll be crucially underdeveloped, might need further medical care. I can’t operate on the living anymore without serious risk, so it’s up to you.”

“I want to be safe.” he sat up now, hand drifting to his belly. Ashen skin betrayed no sign of anything that had happened in the past half an hour; completely healed and sealed, flat, scarless. “I’ll come up with...something. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” he suddenly had the burning desire to know.

“I didn’t look between its legs,” the doctor deadpanned. “I can open you up again…”

“Next week.” Koltira said quickly. It was a long, annoying process to get cut open, even to know something so enticing. “We’ll do it next week.”

A smirk and a chuckle from the surgeon, “Next week. And I’ll have your injections ready at that point too. I’ll tell them you have a parasite and that’s why you were weakened. It’ll buy you some time to recover this week. Stick close to home, stay inside the Acherus. Don’t let them make you go on any missions, doctor’s orders.” he cackled, passing him a rolled-up piece of parchment paper with a wax seal on it. “In case they press you.”

“Thank you.” he began putting his clothing back on, tucking the scroll into a side-pouch. “For…”

He shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. “If I had the slightest inclination I’d want to keep you here, pinned like a butterfly and study you for hours to try and figure out how you made this happen. But we’d get discovered, and neither of us wants that. Be gone. I’ll see you next week.”

With a horrified look, Koltira acquiesced. He had to find Thassarian.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where should I even _start?_ ” Koltira muttered to himself as he walked through the too-dimly-lit hallway. This part of the Acherus was usually quiet enough to walk back and forth and get a little thinking done and not be noticed, considering Death Knights weren’t supposed to do a lot of their own _thinking_. It was just so much easier to _obey_ anyway, with that voice in his head, the one always there. At all times it was there, the gentle murmur of overlapping phrases; a mantra, a motto, instructions, orders: _No mercy. No weaknesses. Bring suffering. Give the gift of death._ A veritable bouquet of black roses, that was. Still, it was _usually_ pretty quiet, like music being played off in another room somewhere, and Koltira was at least able to put his own two thoughts together in his head.

When he wasn’t about to go into a blind fucking panic.

He looked down. Without realizing, one of his hands had drifted to his stomach, clutching the area just above his hips. “I know, I know...I’m talking to myself and imagining I’m talking to you. I can’t believe I’m doing this.” he tilted his head back and felt wall there, slightly damp, trickling into his hair. He thought of his mother, of all the female High Elves that he knew, all the ones that had had children. If he could ask them anything, what would he say now? And oh, Thassarian. They _still_ had to angrily yell at each other in public enough to convince passers-by that they were _Just Comrades,_ brothers in death. Even ‘friends’ was too intimate a word to use in front of some of the others. Arthas, for his part, never poked himself between them to try and figure it out (he was probably too focused on their ongoing campaign) and as long as they did their jobs - and did them with aplomb - he probably didn’t question their motivations.

You work harder to protect someone you love. Well, someone you wanted to bed that night, anyway; the concept of whether or not Death Knights could still feel _love_ was up for grabs.

But what of Thassarian? He was human. Even though they might have been biologically compatible enough to produce an offspring (and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know _how_ it happened), what would the child look like? What would happen when it was too big to keep inside of him anymore?

Both of Koltira’s hands crossed over his stomach, protectively. Would it be killed the moment it was found? What if someone went the other way, and decided something that young was perfect to groom as a Death Knight? Raise it living and then...and then kill it when it was prime age and size, to be kept forever as the perfect specimen? Or even Arthas himself? Hadn’t he, at some point, vaguely mentioned something about heirs? Or was that _hairs_ , and that he was -

“Tira?”

He blinked.

“Koltira. There you are.”

Looked up. That familiar face - broad, pale, framed with medium-length white hair and beard. The same unnaturally blue eyes, the dark patches surrounding them. Something swelled inside of the elf and he maybe, just for one moment, thought that love was still something he could feel.

“Thassarian.” the name felt like a blessing falling from his lips. “I was looking for you.”

“No, you weren’t,” his voice sounded almost amused, “you were pacing back and forth in a corridor, muttering to yourself. Be careful they don’t think you’ve gone mad, and throw you down into the ring to be the training dummy of some newly risen trainee.”

“Would you save me, if I was?” Koltira glanced at him sideways, petulant, and saw his human tense up just a little.

“I’d ensure you had a swift death,” Thassarian murmured, “that we both did. I’d impale us both on my own blade.”

“Romantic.” Koltira paused. “I need to speak with you.”

“We’re speaking now. Or do you mean you wish to go somewhere more _private_ -”

“I _do_ mean that, but it’s merely to _speak_ , I assure you.”

Thassarian shrugged, turned, and looked over his shoulder. “Follow me at a distance.”

They made their way through the halls, through more public areas. The distance helped it look like they weren’t going somewhere together, and after one or two rounds, Koltira was able to get through a doorway and behind some shelves and into quarters that didn’t belong to anyone, a disused room. It wasn’t comfortable, wasn’t a place you wanted to stay for long, and Arthas could find you _anywhere_ , but most others wouldn’t bother to look. Why would you hide, after all?

“What did you want to speak with me about? Did you manage to find out what was wrong?” Thassarian tilted his head, looking at the elf. “You spent a long time at the apothecary. I was starting to think they were grinding you up into meat.”

“No, just the uselessness in the bed beside mine,” Koltira shot quickly, rolling his eyes before calming himself and closing his eyes. _How do I say this._ “When you were...before. Did you ever want children? A family?”

There was a moment of silence. Koltira opened his eyes. Thassarian was watching him, calculated, eyes narrowed. He was utterly unable to tell what he was thinking. How he longed to be the Lich King at moments like these, so he could read the human’s mind, be at ease.

Or, perhaps, not be at ease. “How could you ask me such a thing?” the voice was careful, measured, but through his teeth. “That’s cruel, even for _you_ , Deathweaver.”

“Wait, before you - I ask because, I -” he babbled, quickly, rushing into it, knowing he’d said the worst thing possible and wanting to fix it, “what would you say if I - if I were to tell you, that I was pregnant with your child?”

The silence this time was short, barely time for breath before the response, seeming almost _rehearsed_ , as if he’d been ready to say it all his life: “I would say that, of all the lies you’ve ever told, that would be your biggest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I welcome corrections as well as regular feedback, especially if you know something I don't about these characters or the general timeline! I only ask that you keep it polite and civil. Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

Anger had made him blind.

Anger that Thassarian would believe him to be lying _now,_  of all times. Anger at himself for somehow not living up to the impossible standards that the human had set for someone to apparently be trusted. Anger that this was all happening, here and now; a curse instead of a gift, if he thought about it the wrong way.

Anger had made him grab Thassarian’s arm by the wrist and lock like steel, dragging him from the room. At first the human protested, surprised. Then he was alarmed. Then he was confused. He proceeded all the way to quiet and acquiescent as the elf marched them down through the hallways back to the messy, darker quarters that belonged to the healers.

Anger was still driving him as he let go of the human just long enough to plant a ham fist around the neck of the doctor who’d been examining him not an hour ago.

“Open me up,” he demanded, voice like thunder, “ _now_.”

His hands at his neck, his feet dangling off the floor, the doctor protested with scrabbling fingers and coughing noises until Thassarian cleared his throat, standing perhaps a foot behind them. “You...you may wish to put him _down_ , first…”

Once his feet hit the floor, the doctor glared, turning and rubbing his bruised trachea. He croaked something, then coughed a few times before speaking. “Get on the table. If the stress of the pain wouldn’t make you go berserk, I’d do it without numbing you first.” muttering and gathering his supplies.

Koltira gave Thassarian a meaningful look, sitting on the table and stripping down, leaving his clothes in a sorry little pile on the floor. The human’s ashen face darkened slightly in his cheeks, and the change didn’t go unregistered by the only other being in the room.

Mercifully, the surgeon didn’t say a word, just proceeded to use spells, herbs, and injections to clean and numb Koltira’s front before silver began to flash in the dim light. The strain in the elf’s neck was excruciating until the doctor insisted he put his head back. “Even if watching this wouldn’t make you sick, the tensing in your muscles would make you leak. Stay still or I’ll strap you down.”

It took a few moments. Koltira neither felt nor saw his skin being peeled back or his organs being moved, but he could hear wet noises, slick and squeaking gently. Finally, there was a pause.

“Come and look. I assume this is what I was assaulted for, in order for you to see?” the doctor’s voice drawled above his body, and Koltira turned his head enough to see Thassarian take a few tentative steps forward.

Whatever colour there had been, now left the human’s face. A stone wall of white under black and grey armour, blue eyes shining like fire inside of his skull was the only thing keeping him upright. “He said it was a baby.”

“He was right.” The doctor was on his other side. Koltira didn’t turn to see his expression, but he could imagine what it looked like: sour, thin, sneering. That face wore a permanent scowl. Perhaps it had been frozen like that in death. Then again, it still would’ve been his own damned fault. “Oh, and Deathweaver - I can’t tell yet if it’s a girl or a boy, but another two weeks and we’ll have a better picture. Now. Can I put it back?” the same sarcastic tone. “I have... _other_ projects I’m working on.”

“He’s seen enough.” Koltira turned his head to stare back at the ceiling, keeping his gaze steady. It wasn’t just that he was open on a table; he suddenly felt very vulnerable for a variety of reasons. “...Thank you.” he decided to add at the end.

There was a grunt of response as the doctor began to close him back up, but no one said a word for the next few minutes. By the time the deceased surgeon had turned to clean his hands and Koltira was reaching for his clothes, the silence was beginning to be unbearable.

“Well?” he was lacing up his breeches, glancing back at Thassarian, who was still standing at his position beside the table, not really looking at anything in particular.

“I don’t know where to even begin.” quiet. “I have...so many questions.”

“The ‘how’ is obvious, even if it’s impossible,” the elf inspected his front, making sure there were no open spaces, before sliding off the table and back into his boots. When he was inside the Acherus for long periods of time, heavy plate armour just made walking cumbersome. Stitched gear was much more flexible. “What else?”

“And you’re sure it’s...mine?”

Koltira slowly looked up from his shirt, letting it drop down over his belly, meeting Thassarian’s eyes with a gaze so fierce it could have cut through walls, “ _What a question._ ”

The human backed up a pace, put his hands up. “What if it was some sort of magical being with the ability to, uh, do this to others?”

“I think I would know if that had happened.” the elf replied coldly, “And before you go accusing me of _lying_ again, know this: I want this. I want to be _happy_ about this. I want to hold this joyful little secret inside me and say that no matter how awful and bad and ugly our world is, _this is good_. That some things in this world are worth preserving, if you love them, no matter what the cost.”

“Doing this could kill you. Could kill all of us,” Thassarian attempted to caution him, but the elf just stepped forward, shaking his head.

“Some days, I think _you’re_ the one who removed his own heart.” he tried to come across as angry, but it was more amused by now; thinking about the little life inside him was starting to make him cautiously optimistic again; such a dangerous feeling. “But we only have to be cruel to each other out there - and only if others look for too long. Let’s not do that now.”

“Agreed.” The human paused before gently placing an open palm over Koltira’s stomach. The elf followed, his leaner, long fingers lacing over top. Even though there was no outward sign yet, the gesture was symbolic, comforting. “I did.”

“Did? Did what?”

“Want a family. Children. Before. To answer your question more politely,” something lit up the human’s face with a little more good humour. “I have no idea how this is going to work, or even if we’ll survive all of this, but...if it does. And we manage, somehow. I think...it will be good.”

“All we can ask for at this point, is to survive long enough.” Koltira began to lead the way out of the lower quarters. “You have your orders, I have mine.” the little scroll in his pocket might give him a bit of leniency, but not for long. “My will - “

“ - is not my own,” Thassarian finished his sentence, echoing the sentiment. “It’s been almost five years since his descent from the frozen throne. This campaign to wage war between the factions trying to defeat us, to make them fight each other...I don’t know if it’s working or not, but it’s pulling our resources very thin indeed. His grip on our minds seems to lessen as of late.”

“A child catching frogs will squeeze the one in his hands to death before it manages to escape,” Koltira muttered to himself. “And he will believe it was an accident.”

Thassarian said nothing in reply, but a hand reached over and squeezed his, as they continued to walk up the long, sloping hallway in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always - corrections and help are more than welcome, as long as you're polite. Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

The first few days weren’t so bad. Koltira wasn’t bothered much. In fact, aside from the low drone of the Lich King in the back of his mind, he didn’t make much communication at _all_. Other high-ranking members kept scurrying around him, almost as if he were a post keeping the ceiling intact.

Even Darion Mograine seemed too distracted to really call on him. The Scarlet Crusade was starting to become more of a thorn in his side than he’d predicted, and the high elf could sense the tension around him, in the way he muttered to himself when he walked, half-talking to himself, half-murmuring to whatever remained of Arthas that could still hear him.

Humans had such odd habits, Koltira thought to himself, until he the very next day found himself talking to his unborn child again. Embarrassingly, it was something to do with explaining their ancient lineage and birthright, something an infant couldn’t possibly understand anyway. At least when someone passed him by, they merely glanced at him. He’d slipped back into Thalassian, which got him some funny looks, but nothing serious.

“There’s nothing wrong with your head.” the apothecary was poking around in his splayed guts again, inspecting. “You’re imagining things.”

“The same way I imagined the one I’m carrying now?”

“I’m still vivisecting my way to fully understanding how Scourge bodies work,” came the reply, drawl, sarcastic, “would you like to sign up as a volunteer?”

“If I can be the one holding the scalpel,” Koltira grunted, as he watched the surgeon scowl at him and start to patch him back together. A very thin sliver of skin was being added to his incision, allowing the growth of life inside him. “So you’re saying being pregnant is _not_ causing me to lose my mind?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” the other man looked at him, finishing sealing him up. “Only that she’s not responsible for your - “

“Wait, _she_?” his mouth went dry, and he felt like he was floating. “It’s a girl?”

“Damn, I was hoping to do a more dramatic reveal. Or at least get some amusement out of it.” the surgeon groaned, kicking in annoyance at the leg of the table. Koltira held on as the stone and metal structure shifted a little.

“It’s a girl,” he repeated, struggling to sit up and not pop his stitches. The other man hadn’t quite finished healing him yet. “I’ll have a daughter…”

“Yes you _will_ , if you ever let me _finish_ ,” he came back with a towel and salve and finished adding the new patch of skin as well as healing him up. “There. I’ll be right back with your injections. Don’t move.” the surgeon glared at him, then stormed off to another room for a moment.

Koltira was left alone with himself, thinking about things. The Eastern Plaguelands below them. What remained of his home to the north. His _home_. Surely the Lich King’s grasp was weakening on his mind if he could feel such powerful emotions tied to something, once more. To obey a direct command meant everything, still, but if his mind could wander this far…

As he was putting on his trousers, the surgeon came back with a small case of syringes and began injecting him. Little pin-pricks meant nothing to a soldier, and Koltira waited patiently until the half-dozen or so were finished. “How’s your lethargy?”

“Gone. I’m not experiencing the tiredness or nausea either.”

“Probably due to the lack of strain from sitting on your perfect little elven ass all day.” the surgeon scowled. “Well, once you’re out in the field of battle again just watch out, that’s all. Don’t overtax yourself, if at all possible.”

“I can try.” Koltira finished dressing once he was done. “And thank you again, for what it’s worth.”

“Begone,” was his only reply, and the high elf scurried off to make himself scarce.

Thassarian was too busy to see him for a time. In fact, he could barely make contact with the human for almost two weeks. He’d gotten several confirmations of the babe’s sex by now, more skin patches, a higher and more elaborate concoction of elixirs both to drink and be injected with before he was able to welcome his lover back.

On the surface and in public, they were rapidly discussing the ongoing missions against the Scarlet Crusade, spinning through the hallways until they were alone and they could find a disused room. As soon as they were behind the door, Koltira found himself pressed against the sticky-slime of a stone wall, cold lips on his neck, strong hands on his hips.

“I missed you,” came the low growl from the human’s chest, half-muffled by the bites he was already making in Koltira’s favour.

The elf pushed away from the wall and against his lover’s firm body, long pale fingers tangling in Thassarian’s hair. “So have I. It’s been too long.”

Their pace was hurried, almost frantic. Thassarian was still wearing all his plate armor, so by the time Koltira managed to get a few pieces untied, his lover had managed to nearly strip the elf entirely from his leathers.

“Not fair,” Koltira protested, silenced by kisses and a cold, armoured hand sliding between his thighs. A short whimper escaped as his fingers scrabbled for purchase, tried to grab hold of _something_ on his lover’s back, but the smooth, slippery armour had nothing to give. Instead, he managed to move lower, focusing on Thassarian's saronite-clad legs.

“That’s not the whining I want to hear,” the human chuckled, biting the elf’s long ear gently as he began to stroke. Koltira’s knees shook a little as he finally managed to get the top pieces of armour off his lover’s thighs, nails digging into the cold flesh of his legs and hurriedly tugging his cock out.

Thassarian brought their hips together, yanking off his glove to palm both their cocks in his hand. Koltira sighed shakily, his eyelids heavy as he watched, his arms now around the human’s broad shoulders. “Wh-what do you want to hear, then?” he tried for teasing, but it was too weak and breathy and _needy_ to hold any power over him.

“I want to hear you _beg_.” the voice growled low in his ear again and his knees almost buckled as Thassarian squeezed, drawing his hand up, slow and steady. “I want to hear my name, Deathweaver.”

“Thass,” the elf managed, terrifyingly close to a whimper. It had been almost a month since they’d been intimate, even something like this. “Ohhh…” the rough, large hand squeezing and stroking his cock, the length against his own, the friction making them warm again, as though they were alive. “Please…”

“Fuck, I missed you,” Thassarian groaned again, thrusting into his own hand. Both of them were slick now, precum steadily leaking from their cocks, smoothing a little bit and sticky. “Can’t - won’t stay away so long next time…”

Koltira was making frantic little noises now, close to the edge, shivering and jerking, muffled against the junction of skin and plate at Thassarian’s neck. “Ah-, ah-, ah-...” He felt dizzy and light-headed and then he was _coming,_ almost shamefully quickly, melting into a puddle of elf in his lover’s tight embrace. The human kept going, chuckling at him, dark and still aroused.

“You never had much stamina when it comes to me,” Thassarian purred, still jerking him until he was wildly overstimulated and almost crying from the sensation. “Fuck, you’re beautiful like that...ahh…” and he was coming too, both of them sticky and spent, panting and sliding down the wall into a heap of plate and leather on the floor.

“Welcome back,” Koltira managed, eyes closed, grinning like a fool against his lover’s cheek. A soft kiss. “Clean us up, I can barely lift my head, let alone my arms.”

“I’ll do my best,” the human chuckled, putting them back together. “But...how _is_ everything?”

“Odd.” Koltira admitted. “Everyone seems so focused on this latest campaign that I’ve been left alone. I have a feeling I’m going to be called back to battle in the coming weeks though; Darion keeps telling me he has news and then wandering off before he can deliver it. He’s acting very strangely.”

“That _is_ weird.” Thassarian admitted. “But I meant - with…” he laid his hand over Koltira’s belly.

The high elf grinned. " _Ann’da_ ,” he nodded, “we’re going to have a daughter.”

“Really? Oh…” the look on his face seemed almost relieved, but it could have been his addled imagination. “Tira, that’s wonderful. And she’s healthy, growing normal, all that?”

“From what that scowling menace with a scalpel tells me, yes.” Koltira nodded. “She’s still very small, but he’s absolutely certain by now, leaving us with only one more question - her name.”

“We’ll have to come up with something together,” Thassarian replied, “something important, something that _means_ something.”

“Something, indeed,” the elf teased, and the human rolled his eyes as he hauled them back to their feet.

“Don’t tease. I’ve got a lot on my mind - I’m sure you have, too. I can’t be bothered with my words, as long as you can understand them.”

“I’ll have to teach you Thalassian so that you can speak nonsense in _multiple_ languages…” laughter in response to the human’s groan of exasperation. “I’m certain your tongue will have no issue with the accent, considering all the other wonderful things you can do with it…”


	5. Chapter 5

All too soon, Koltira was called back into active duty. He was accosted almost roughly by Darion in a hallway, and though it wasn’t entirely unexpected, it was still startling to be grabbed by his upper arms and barked at.

Truth be told, it left the elf slightly shaken. After a few minutes’ reflection, he chalked it up to the higher levels of stress lately. He had heard whispers that this latest campaign wasn’t going well at all. Despite the fact that they were raising and training more new Death Knights than ever before, and their sheer _numbers_ should have been enough to overwhelm the Eastern Plaguelands and sweep through like the plague that they were, there was something about this that just didn’t seem to be working.

“Crimson Dawn.” he repeated the two words to himself, over and over, as he went to the armory to get himself polished up. He sat in his legplates and pauldrons and watched as they warped out his chestpiece _ever_ so slightly, just enough for his, ah, extra padding. A mission behind enemy lines. He could be a good spy, but not if he couldn’t fit inside a clanking suit. At least Darion had told him he would be working with Thassarian.

“You’re good to go. Don’t sit around here too long, you’ll get soft again.” an assistant was helping him get buckled into his armor. Koltira jabbed the man in his side with the butt of his sword, making him jerk and wheeze.

“Remember whom you’re speaking to,” the elf threatened, before stalking off to find his lover.

Thassarian was poring over some maps, but he greeted Koltira almost warmly in front of the others. He was explaining a bit of the plan, going over areas they’d been planning to infiltrate. “We’re expecting a lot of the newly-risen knights to help us through back-up mostly, to keep them distracted while we sneak around.”

“Long enough for us to find out what this Crimson Dawn is.” Koltira agreed. The plans went on well into the night, and by the time they were ready to go, the muted sun was already starting to peek into the more open areas of the Acherus. The elf rubbed one eye blearily. He wasn’t _sleepy_ but it was still more difficult to go without resting these days. Still, he wasn’t too concerned as they mounted up and began riding away from their high perch.

It took an infuriatingly short time for things to go completely to shit.

Unbeknownst to them, they had walked into a trap. The Scarlet Crusade had been _waiting_ for infiltration, and suddenly they were swarmed out of nowhere. They had barely enough time to draw weapons before they were set upon physically, like so many leeches. Thassarian and the others were using their magics instead of swords, and Koltira was lapping at the hot blood spattered across his face and hands from his own attacks, but just as he was nearing the way out, something _moved_ inside of him.

“What…?” he stopped dead, looked down at himself, sticky hands smearing at the front of his breastplate.

“Koltira, what are you doing? _RUN_!” he could hear Thassarian bellowing, but it seemed from very far away. He looked up, blue eyes wide, meeting his lovers’, before something cracked him across the back of the skull and he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

When he came to, he was strapped to a rack, spread wide like a starfish. He was naked except for what was left of his underclothes and trousers. _Everything_ ached, like he’d been hit by a stampede of horses. Frantically, he lifted his head to look down at himself, but everything was still in place. The barely-there bump on his lower belly just above his hips was untouched. He laid his head back down and stared at the ceiling.

Capture was supposed to be the end of the line. No one would be coming for him. It was the code of the Scourge - if you were weak enough to be caught, you didn’t deserve to be rescued.

He could hear voices across the room. A chair scraped and footsteps on the stone floor came over to his side. Koltira looked. A young man, barely out of his childhood it seemed, dressed in the regalia of the Scarlet Crusade. “It’s awake.”

It? They were calling him an _it_? A tiny thread of indignation and anger drew up from his belly but he quashed it. Little use it would do him here. He could feel something on his skin as he twisted a little on the table. It was slick. Some sort of cream or gel, spread across his tattoos, muting his senses and weakening his powers. He could feel his sword screaming from across the room, hungering for blood and meat and souls, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it right now. Oddly enough, he could no longer hear Arthas in the back of his mind. Not at _all_. It was a wall of silence.

_He knows I’m here. I’m dead to him. I am already...dead._

“You won’t succeed,” he informed the pimply-faced Crusader. Despite his position, he refused to have his final, true death, be one full of whimpering and crying. _Defiant to the last._ “We are coming for you.”

“I’m quivering in my boots,” the snarky reply came, in a voice not yet broken with age, “from where I stand, you aren’t going _anywhere_.”

“I was speaking of your overall mission,” Koltira remained speaking in Common, since that was what he heard the boy speak across the room. It made sense - they were almost exclusively human, from what the mission reports said. “ _You_ , however, won’t make it through the night, _child_.”

That earned him a very pathetic slap across the face. Koltira smiled thinly. “Go on. Hit me again. Harder this time, so I can actually feel it.”

“Matthas, no.” an older man came over and grabbed the younger man’s wrist. He struggled, then looked away, flushed. _Interesting_. “Don’t let him bait you.”

“ _It_ isn’t getting to me at all.” the teen, Matthas, snarled, before stomping off.

Koltira and the older man, a silver-bearded Crusader, watched him storm up a long set of stairs before they looked at each other.

“You won’t get anything out of me,” Koltira offered gently, meeting his gaze. “And there won’t be anyone coming for me, so it’s pointless to set traps for that.”

The older man sort-of shrugged. “Regardless of what you say, Scourge, we’re keeping you here.”

“If you’re planning on keeping me alive-”

“You seem to be already dead.”

“-Might I have some water please?”

The older man blinked, considered, then nodded. He vanished upstairs for a moment, then came back with a small pouch. He held it to Koltira’s lips and the elf took a few mouthfuls. The sticky, tacky sensation in the back of his throat cleared, and he was able to speak a little easier. But his company didn’t last, and soon he was alone in the darkened room.

Something in his stomach moved again and he closed his eyes, concentrating. Was that the baby kicking? Surely it was too soon for that? Perhaps it was because he had so little body fat, or perhaps it was because he had little between the babe and his internal organs. From what the apothecary had shown and explained to him, he didn’t have all the proper parts. The baby was connected to something called a pla...a pla...whatever it was, but he didn’t have a womb to protect her. She was resting in his intestines like an egg in a bird’s nest. It was a strange mental image and an even stranger thing to see, with his skin peeled back like that.

Days passed. Matthas and the older Crusader and several others would come to see him, check on him, try to prod some information out of him. Some of the more angry ones would attempt to torture him, but all they got was stony silence or some very creative lies. Koltira wasn’t expecting anyone to save him, but he still held out hope that _something_ would happen. Maybe his captors would be slaughtered during a battle and someone would come down here and...and what? Find him and release him? Why? He had been weak enough to get captured. He would be killed too, or worse - left just like this, until his body just got _so_ old it crumbled to dust.

The only indication of day and night was the long hours when no one visited him. He assumed everyone had gone to sleep, but it could have been the reverse. They might have been out fighting. Still, he was certain at least a week had passed by the time he really felt worse. His body was weak from lack of nutrients and bloodshed, his sword nearly sobbing from across the room. The sensations in his stomach were growing weaker, and he truly began to worry about his daughter’s chances. They were already slim when they had started this venture, and had he carried her only long enough to have her die with him down here?

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. They burned, the sensation almost physically painful. He closed them so he wouldn’t have to stare at anything, and, throat aching, began singing the only lullaby he could remember, to his unborn daughter.

He was interrupted by a clatter of armored legs on the stair, but he felt too weak to even turn his head. He just kept singing. It was about all he had the strength left to do at this point. The footsteps came to his side but nothing happened. He let the song end, opening his eyes.

It was a Death Knight. A woman, the pallor of death fresh in her cheeks. She couldn’t have been there long, perhaps she was newly risen. Her eyes were the same unnatural blue as the rest, her red hair hanging shaggy around her face. A spray of light-brown freckles crept across her nose and cheeks as she peered down at him.

“I heard singing,” she said, and her voice was soft, gentle. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“Why are you here?” he murmured. “Have you come to finish me off?”

She seemed to remember the reason she had come, then, because she immediately began cutting the bindings that held him. Koltira slowly sat up, rubbing his wrists. “No. Thassarian sent me.” she reached for his sword and the elf winced as it screamed when she grabbed the hilt. Runeblades didn’t like to be touched by anyone other than their owner, but he could barely sit up straight, let alone cross the room to get to it.

Even the young woman sensed the struggle within the sword as she hefted it. It was twice the size of the one slung across her back. “They are coming. We don’t have much time.”

“Agreed.” he tried taking a few deep breaths, rolling his shoulders to get feeling back into them. He was almost terrifyingly weak, still, the thrill of knowing he would either be free or dead within moments spurred him on. _Thassarian sent someone to save me_. His heart sang. “Let them come. I need their blood.”

They didn’t have to wait long. The narrow bend in the stairs forced them to come down one at a time, and the other Death Knight wordlessly slew the first few before handing Koltira back his sword and drawing her own. Each death brought strength back to his body and by the time he was on his feet, he felt like himself again, even if he wasn’t completely well.

He threw up a magic barrier and she kept killing. The room was thick with bodies and the stench of blood hung in the air as they shuffled him into his armor. It didn’t buckle fully over his stomach and the young woman paused before she gave up, shaking her head.

“Get back to Thassarian. Tell him they’re executing prisoners at the chapel.” part of the news he had overheard, along with some other, more dangerous knowledge… “There’s some things I need to do, first.” Koltira flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword before he charged up the stairs. “Your High Inquisitor is dead!” he began shouting every slur he could think of in Common as he taunted the guards. It worked. A pack of them swarmed after him as he bolted down hallways and finally found the entrance. Mounting up to a horse tied up outside, he took off down the hill.

He cast his mind back to the freckled Death Knight and prayed to the Light he could no longer feel, that she would make it back to Thassarian before anyone else did.

Koltira still had one more thing to do before he could go back to his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally two chapters, but I condensed it because I didn't have enough material to split it in half. So if it seems kind of rushed in terms of the timeline, sorry!


	6. Chapter 6

His stomach was cold.

This was the only thing running through his mind as he raced across dessicated lands to return to the Acherus. Yes, his entire body was cold. It was more or less _supposed_ to be, unless he was using his blood magics. But his stomach felt cold and hollow and it utterly, utterly terrified him.

The horse between his knees was going into a frenzy as she was forced to run at breakneck speeds down pathways and over broken fields, finally reaching what was left of their base camps on the hills. He almost broke an ankle getting out of the saddle, leaving her to Salanar’s pleasure as he practically dove for one of the skeletal gryphons to take him back to the floating fortress.

“A present from a dead man,” he could hear the chuckle behind him, “welcome back. I suppose.”

Once his feet his the floor, he was tearing down corridors and skidding to a halt in front of the apothecary’s door.

The closed, _locked_ , apothecary door.

“No.” he breathed. “No, no, not now...not now, please…” one hand was on his belly, over the loose clattering of armour there that didn’t quite buckle over the bump. “I can’t - “

“Deathweaver.” it was Darion, striding up the hallway. “We thought you were gone for good.” he didn’t sound relieved, but he didn’t sound angry either. “Do you have any ne- what in the name of - ”

Koltira had sunk to his knees, forehead against the door, arms crossed over his stomach, eyes unfocused and staring straight ahead into the half-rotted door. “Tell me, are you any good with medicine?” his voice was strangely calm for a man who looked as though he were about to vomit.

“Uh...I don’t...I don’t know, but I could try. We haven’t seen him for days,” Darion gestured to the door, then crouched on the floor beside Koltira. “The last I heard, he was given direct orders from Arthas himself and then left. Here.” he pulled the high elf to his feet and proceeded to kick in the locked door.

The lock didn’t break, but the damp wood splintered enough down the middle for the Highlord to push it in using his shoulder. He half-supported, half-dragged the other Death Knight to one of the table slabs and laid him out. “What, what do you need?” he pulled off his gloves and set his helmet to the side.

Koltira had seen Darion with his helm off before, but only in calm discussion. Right now, he looked like a frightened child. The elf supposed he was - after all, the Highlord was still barely out of his teen-aged years. “A steady hand, most of all.” he began removing his chestplate and his belt, getting rid of his outer layers of armour. For the sake of his commanding officer he kept his trousers on, but pushed them down as low as he could while still preventing his superior from seeing a little _too_ much of the elf for his own comfort. “There should be a set of blades over there.” he was sitting up, gesturing to the apothecary’s work table.

Luckily, everything had been left where it was the last time he’d seen it - weeks and weeks ago. Even the small box containing the vials and needles was, too. “Bring that over,” Koltira urged, and as Darion obeyed, he opened it up. _Good_. All his booster shots were in here, a glistening series of tiny tubes. When he looked up, Darion was scrubbing his hands in the sink.

“I highly doubt you’re going to infect me with anything,” Koltira deadpanned as he began filling one of the syringes and beginning to inject himself.

“What are you _doing_?” hissed Darion, who was coming over to watch him. He had pulled a rolling table with a tray of shiny metal instruments over to the side. “Is that some sort of enhancing drug? Is that what you and Blackburn were working on?”

 _Blackburn_. He’d never bothered to learn the man’s name. “No. I don’t know if I should bother trying to swear you to secrecy at this point, because I have no idea if it’s even worth it at this point.” He injected a few more needles, then laid back down. He didn’t have time to crawl through and look for any more painkillers - just had to hope that the injections, designed to protect him and the unborn child, contained some sort of numbing agent.

Luck was again with him as Darion began the first cut. He followed where Koltira was gesturing, slicing thin and deep along the bottom of where the skin graft had come. “I still don’t understand - what are we doing this for?” the younger man murmured, using clips to hold back the skin.

“You may have to look deeper.” The pain was there, but Koltira managed to distract himself by taking deep, rhythmic breaths that he didn’t really need, so it kept him occupied. “It’s - ”

Darion let out a half-shout of alarm, taking a step back before hurrying forward and gently lifting something from under the flaps of skin.

“How is she?” Koltira twisted his sweaty body a little this way and that, trying to see up. Darion was cradling the little thing in his bare hands.

The human stared, his face grave. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, Deathweaver, but - ” his eyes widened, his shoulders dropped, and he let out an almost relieved breath he’d been holding. “Oh. I think she just _hiccoughed_.” he tried to angle his hands, and Koltira could see a teeny fist clench and un-clench of its own will, slowly coming back to pink from a dark ash-grey. “I have no idea what’s happening right now.”

“Good. Good.” his mind raced. He had no knowledge of what he should be looking for, but if she was moving and her colour was returning, surely that was a good sign? “Put her back. _Gentle_ , mind you.”

“As if I’d be rough with a _baby_.” Darion scoffed quietly, making her a little nest of Koltira’s small intestines, laying her back down and starting to tug down the flap of skin. “Uh...I don’t know if I can get this to fit…”

“As best you can.” Koltira instructed him. “Blackburn was giving me skin grafts to keep me from splitting open. I have no idea what to do with it now.”

The human looked around. “I doubt he was growing it by himself,” the Highlord remarked. “He must have had some fresh bodies to pull from. Nothing fresh in here now, though.” he shook his head, taking the needle and thread and clumsily starting to stitch the high elf up.

As he was moving, he finally started to speak again. “I don’t know what to do with this knowledge.” Darion met Koltira’s eyes, and he looked even younger than before. “When Arthas gave our mission directives and I was told to send you out in the field, you were already...you must have already been like this. I sent you out in this condition. I had no idea. I swear,” he tried to apologize.

The elf was having none of it. “This isn’t your fault. This was my choice. I made the decision to preserve a life that shouldn’t have existed but somehow it does.” he sighed, holding a towel over the incision as he used what little blood magic he had left over to seal the wound. It was crude and the stitches would be the main thing holding him together until he could find something better, but it would keep him from falling open and spilling everything on the Acherus floor. “That being said...you told me the directive came from Arthas himself.”

“Yes, he mentioned your name specifically. Yours and Thassarian's.” the wheels were turning in Darion’s head. His eyes got big. “Oh. Oh _no_.”

“The entire time I was held hostage, I couldn’t hear Arthas’ voice any more.” Koltira watched him, eyes narrowing. “Do you think he - ”

The elf had his answer before he could finish that thought. Darion stepped back, palms covering his ears, fingers in the soft, pale-blond hair that draped across his sweaty face and cheeks. “He wants to see you. _Now_.” He stared at the floor, eyes wide, before snapping back up to the elf’s.

“Koltira, he’s _laughing."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: The next chapter is going to add a bunch of trigger warnings that I'd left out when I first posted. You can probably figure out what they'll be, but just a heads-up that it's going to be graphic.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the two-week delay; I was out of town without internet access. Trigger warnings for sexual assault and rape. As always, I welcome constructive feedback and comments.

Koltira could still feel his stomach oozing through his shirt as he raced along the hallways of the Acherus, nothing in his head but cold, dark silence. Surely if Arthas wanted him, he would have made the connection...more personal? But Darion wouldn’t have played such a horrible, cruel, practical joke. Yes, Death Knights were meant to be hard-hearted, but the man had literally just finished stitching him back together, he couldn’t possibly be changing his mind now.

He could see a light on in the main chamber where Arthas laid out his plans from this base. He could see shadows - multiple people causing them - and hear faint arguing. As he rounded the corner and entered, the cold gust washed over him like a wave.

He hadn’t seen the Lich King in person in months. Just the voice in his head.

“Deathweaver.”

To hear Arthas’ voice out loud was to know fear. It was low, subhuman, subterranean even. He felt it in his bones, felt it in his blood.

“My Lord.” he responded, not able to make eye contact. For one, it was overpowering. Second, it was hard to tell where those eyes were under the great helm. Just a blue wave of pain, anger, and determination. “You sent for me.”

“Yes.” he rose from his chair. Koltira glanced around the room; the others were leaving, as though hypnotized. That wasn’t a good sign. “We have much to...discuss.”

There was no way he didn’t know. It must be because of - “If this is about my child, I won’t be convinced to give her up.” he laid a hand protectively over his belly. Without Arthas purring in the back of his head, it was easier to focus on defying his command.

“On the contrary. I wish to extend my hearty...congratulations.”

_Okay, wasn’t expecting that._

“I...I beg your pardon, My Lord?”

“Not you.” Arthas turned his head and a shadow emerged from behind an archway. “Him.”

Koltira was struck dumb as Blackburn came over to him, tsk’ing and tutting, shaking his head and rubbing his hands. “That Mograine is such a heavy touch. Sloppy hands. I’ll need to perform the surgery again to repair the damage he’s done.”

“You…” the elf felt faint. He glanced between the apothecary and the Lich King, eyes wide, entire body a cold, dark ache. “You were...how long have you been…”

“Aware of this? Deathweaver, _how did you think this happened in the first place_?” Arthas’ voice was mocking, amused. “Nothing conspires in the Acherus without my planning.” for the first time since Koltira had entered the room, the King removed his helm and began taking off his armor. He was still tall, imposing, pale and silver and frosted. “As for the _how_ of it, there are various ancient spells and enchantments hidden in knowledge I have obtained. _You are an experiment_ . Life from death. But imbued with all the strength and knowledge and power _and servitude_ of my risen Death Knights. Your child may be elven and alive, but she will be _mine_ soon enough.” His smile darkened. “I plan to make many, many more.”

Koltira felt dizzy, and put his hand out. Blackburn had sorted him a chair and he sank into it. “Then...but what of…”

“Thassarian did not know. He still does not know. He and his other knights are off doing my bidding, but they are not aware. Only Mograine - and I am convincing him that it is far better to remain silent than to advise others of my actions. At least, for now.” The dark smile grew.

“You’re already breeding an army. What do you need another one for?” Koltira asked, light-headed, not sure if he was still conscious at this point. Surely this was a horrible, horrible nightmare. The kind he never got anymore, now that he was dead.

“So that they can hide in plain sight. I may feel as though the pallor of death is not so egregious, but the living find it appalling. This new army will be raised from birth to be my hands, to go out into the world, among all races and to _take_.” Arthas raised his hand and clenched his fist. The muscles in his arm bulged under his shirt. He was fully unarmored now, the saronite and silver placed carefully upon a large, thick, oaken table. He walked to Koltira, about to say something, when Blackburn coughed.

The door on the other side of the room had opened. The elf turned, feeling returning to his skin. He wasn’t sure what emotions he was feeling until he spotted who it was.

“And here comes our next participant.” the apothecary smiled, rubbing his hands over and over again, taking her in as she closed the door, in that dim hypnotic sleeplike state, and bolted it shut. “She looks much like you did the night I prepared you.”

The hot, sick surge of anger from the exposed violation melted into fear again when the Death Knight came closer and he could make out her features in the gloom. It was the freckled girl who had saved him from his captivity. “We call her Glory.” Blackburn continued. “She was captured two weeks ago by our forces. The Light is taking them younger and younger these days! Barely nineteen but apparently she was so close to it she would have visions while still conscious! A commander, such a brave baby paladin…” he smirked. “And now she and her Blaze serve us well. She has slaughtered more of her fellow humans in the past two weeks than most of _your_ command combined! She is _our_ Blaze of Glory now…” laughter.

Koltira was struck dumb in his chair until Glory wavered, nearly stumbling as she came up beside where he sat. He rose, but Arthas laid a ham fist on his arm, preventing him from getting any closer. “She must be prepared.”

“Prepared? She looks as though she’s about to collapse! My Lord…” he wasn’t sure what he was protesting, wasn’t sure what he could even _do_ at this point. Wait, was that why he was summoned? Was he supposed to be… “I can’t-”

“What do _you_ have to do with it?” Blackburn was removing the young woman’s belt, as she stood, limp and blank faced, in the middle of the room. “Now that we know it will take no matter what the gender of the host, we can begin to have a little _fun_.”

The cold fist on his arm released him as Arthas stepped away. The gears stopped turning in Koltira’s head as he lurched forward, grabbing at the back of the Lich King’s shirt in a futile gesture of a man damned. “You can’t! You’ll _kill_ her!”

“Nonsense.” Blackburn cackled. He had half-stripped Glory by now. She stood like a doll, sagging slightly to one side. Her freckles continued past her face and down her arms and over the tops of her breasts. “The Lord has still human appendages. And a woman’s is made to _fit_ them.”

“You didn’t do it to me, why are you doing it to her?” Koltira still protests. His hands in the back of Arthas’ shirt do nothing, though the Lich King does not remove him. “You let me be with Thassarian!”

“Because the two of you were already at it. Disgustingly so.” Blackburn wrinkled his half-decayed nose. “We made it so the couple that _fucked_ like rabbits would start to _reproduce_ like them. Glory here has abstained - all her life, I’d heard!”

Just when he’d thought it couldn’t possibly be any worse. A paladin, almost still a child herself, in a trance and about to be raped by her commander, to be a pawn in his new plot to _literally_ breed himself an army of soldiers and spies. And what of his own child? Would she be born _willing_ to serve in this war? Or was that just something Arthas would _do_ to her? “Please, please don’t.” Part of him was confused. Why was he standing up for this girl, whom he barely knew, whom his cold, dead body could barely recognize as being sentient at all? What could he possibly hope to gain from this fruitless venture?

Then again, what did he have to lose?

“I am your Lord and Master and your King.” Arthas finally turned, his shirt undone on his chest, staring down at the cowering, crouching elf. “ _You_ do not give _me_ orders.”

“ _Please_ , Lord.” he made the effort to kneel, though he screamed inside. “If...if it can be done once, it can be done again. Use me, prepare _me_ , take me instead.”

Both Arthas and Blackburn paused to look at each other.

“We could consider it a further part of the experiment.” the apothecary shrugged. “To see what the upper limits of growth are. And if he can bear more than one at a time, so can the rest. I’d only need more of the injections and skin grafts, but those are easily come by. And if fewer knights are here with more children inside of them, that’s fewer you have to take off the battlefield who are already trained.”

“Very well.” Arthas turned fully, facing the kneeling elf. Koltira could feel his shoulders sag with relief. “Our little Blaze of Glory would make a better general than mother, anyway.” _So close. Just let her leave, and then -_ “Wake her up. I want her to watch this.”

“What? No!” Koltira found himself yanked up by his ears and a fistful of hair, screaming with the sudden pain. “My Lord-”

“I am agreeing to use your body instead of hers.” Arthas tossed him bodily onto the oaken table, scattering the armour pieces. They clattered to the floor, haphazardly. “I never said she could go.”

Blackburn cackled as he left Glory, and hurried over to where Koltira was struggling to sit up on the table. His bump made it hard. “I’ll need a moment to prepare him, My Lord.”

Over the apothecary’s arm, the elf could see the young woman collapse like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She hit the floor _hard_ , and he could hear the groans of pain as she struggled up again.

Arthas was removing what was left of his own clothing, body almost gleaming in the low light. It shimmered like snow on a starlit winter’s night. “After this, I want Deathweaver confined to quarters. No more little escapades. If I’m putting all my eggs in one basket, so to speak, I’m keeping it close to home.” a dark chuckle, echoing through the stone room.

Koltira drank from the bottle offered to him by Blackburn and quietly allowed himself to be stripped and prepared. The liquid had little flavour; it burned a little once it settled in his stomach before raising his temperature and, to his horror, his cock.

“This is part of it. Just in case.” Blackburn smirked in response to Koltira’s shock at the aphrodisiac. “To loosen you up if you aren’t with someone who’s willing to do it _for_ you.”

The implication made his cheeks burn. Thassarian took great care of his lover when they fucked. He didn’t want everyone to know about it. “Thank you.” he bit off, not feeling an inch any more grateful.

At this point, all he could see was Arthas, with a hand moving up and down his slick cock. Luck was with him again this moment, for the Lich King was proportional but not inhumanly large. And if he - and his Lord - were both _prepared_ , perhaps it wouldn’t destroy his insides.

Then again, Blackburn was right there to mend him if it did.

“What’s…happening?” a soft, female voice spoke up, just as Arthas hoisted Koltira’s legs over his shoulders and positioned his cock at the elf’s entrance. “Where am I?”

“Oh good, you’re back.” the apothecary swept over to her, plying her naked body off the floor (to her protest) and dragging her to Koltira’s side on the table. “It’s the handsome elven prince’s turn to play _hero_ and pay you back for your _daring_ rescue.”

At that moment, bright-hot pain flared through Koltira’s body as Arthas pushed all the way inside, all at once. Despite the both of them being readied for this, it still fucking hurt to not be eased into it. The elf yelled in pain, head back, nails scrabbling for purchase on the oaken table, and his scream was echoed by Glory, who nearly took Blackburn’s arm off trying to get away.

“Stay,” Arthas had buried himself to the hilt inside of the elf’s body, but one his hands still managed to get to the female death knight’s upper arm and hold her there. “He is doing this _for you_ . I want you to watch. And I want you to be _grateful_. And I want you to _worship_ your King and see how his servants are _supposed to cleave to his wishes._ ” it ended in a growl as he started to thrust.

“Koltira…” her voice was a whisper of choked agony and tears.

“Thank him.”

“Th-thank you!” pale cheeks wet with tears.

“Good girl.” Arthas resumed fucking Koltira, and turned his face down to watch, grinning from ear to ear. “You are a _treat_ , elf. This must be what Thassarian keeps coming back to you for. Had I known, I would have taken you myself _years_ ago.”

All Koltira could do was groan and hold on. It didn’t feel _good_ , but it wasn’t painful anymore, and the concoction of herbs and spells made his skin hum a little. “It - it pleases me to suh-serve you, muh-my Lord…” he managed, trying to be a little more placating now that things were moving away from a more dangerous direction. “I look fuh-forward to suh-serving you again…”

“Good.” The Lich King purred, spreading the elf’s legs further to thrust deeper and faster. If Koltira concentrated, he could feel the splinters in his back from the table and not just the burn from the friction. It took his mind off the fact that Glory _couldn’t stop staring_. Yes, she was being forced to be _next_ to them, but would it kill her to _not make eye contact_?

“I need to go and get my supplies.” Blackburn shuffled away from the table and disappeared out of Koltira’s peripheral vision, but when he blinked and turned his head, she was still there. As Arthas’ thrusts evened out a little, he felt a hand touch his arm. The fingers were too delicate to be the Lich King’s.

“I’m so sorry,” he could hear her breathe, below Arthas’ grunts and the legs of the table grinding against the stone floor. “I’m so sorry, Koltira…”

He couldn’t really speak to respond; it was taking most of his concentration not to get off on this. To his disgust, his body was finally starting to react to the rhythm of the Lich King, and he hadn’t had an orgasm in weeks. His body wanted to come. It wanted him to come. Right now, it didn’t care that he was being drugged and raped and impregnated _again_ , this time by Arthas Menethil himself.

_I am so fucked_.

Mercifully it was over before that could occur. With a bestial snarl, Arthas pushed himself as deep as he could and held. Koltira told himself he couldn’t feel anything, but it still crept into his mind that he was, according to the spells, quite likely now well on his way to being pregnant again. Some part of him oddly hoped to have a son, so as to experience one of each. The rest of him was just too disgusted by the manipulation of the situation to do much but feel like he wanted to puke.

When Arthas walked away, Blackburn walked back, cleaning him up and re-opening the stitches just to add more skin and close him up properly. Glory still never let go, the entire time. At this point, he was resigned to her. Perhaps she thought it was comforting to have her presence felt as well as seen.

Perhaps he _should_ try to take at least a _little_ comfort in whatever it was he could.

“You’re all set.” Blackburn rubbed the swell of Koltira’s belly. “Both of you, get dressed and get out. Deathweaver, you’re confined to quarters. Glory, report to the mission hall. And if you decide to tell anyone about this ongoing experiment...you _will_ be the next subject, and no heroic dead elven prince will be able to save you next time.”

"That's not...my name." she murmured, her brow clouded, as though she were trying to remember. 

"Of course it is. It's what we call you." Blackburn patted her head like a child with his rotting hand, then walked away.

As the two of them hastily began to put their clothing back on, Koltira kept his back turned. He had a hard time bending, but he managed to get his pants up before turning to leave. He could still see Glory out of the corner of his eye. She bore a look of determination on her pale, freckled face, still streaked with tears. Her mouth had stopped trembling.

He had just opened the door when Glory breezed past the elf with a breathless whisper of just two words. Not _thank you_ , not _I’m sorry_ , none of those again.

“ _Be ready._ ”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive feedback and polite corrections always welcome!

Everything around him was happening at a feverish, frightening pace.

Koltira, stuck in the room he called his own, spent the next few days staring out the small slit that served as a window at the burning lands below, or staring through the doorway, watching others rush around with clanking of metal and rattling of bones. At first there was constant hurry. Then the second day, fewer people ran past. By the sunset of the third day, he hadn’t seen or heard _anyone._

So when he poked his head outside the doorway and looked around, the steady, slow drip of water from a ceiling point was his only greeting.

Peering up and down the sloping corridor, he wondered idly for a moment if there was _anyone_ around left at all when a pair of faces came into view.

Though he did not know them, they hurried over when they spotted him.

“Come on! Get into your armor!” one began pushing past him. When the elf tried to protest, the other grabbed him by his wrists.

“We’ve got to go! Didn’t you feel the call? They need everyone down at the battle!”

“What battle?” Koltira, feeling a bit like a shadow was falling over him, allowed himself to be manipulated into his saronite plating and picked up his sword. Byfrost kissed his metallic palm.

“Come on, we don’t have time.” they were pushing and pulling him out of his room. Neither of them seemed to notice his rounded belly or if they did, perhaps they assumed it was just a case of mortal overeating.

By the time they reached the few remaining gryphons, they were all running. The sights and sounds of an utterly empty Acherus - he wouldn’t call it _devoid of life_ since they were all dead to begin with - were almost frightening. He hadn’t even spotted the few abominations that kept the place clean and running. Perhaps they were hiding. Perhaps they had been called out to fight. Regardless, he seemed to stand on the edge of a precipice.

The height was dizzying as he looked down below the fourth and fifth ribs of the skeletal beast he rode to the ground. Once they landed, they left the undead beasts and continued on foot through a narrow mountain pass. More than once he almost fell, but was able to keep himself upright long enough to make it towards the sound and smell of blood.

He could taste the copper in the air before he saw anything.

It seemed the entire might of the scourge was attacking a tiny force of soldiers, up on a hill under the figure of an imposing building. Something tugged at the back of his mind as he drew his sword and charged.

Some mixture of panic and instinct brought him to the side of the only two men he still trusted in this mess: Darion and Thassarian. Both of them seemed surprised to see him, though they didn’t have time to express much in the way of either joy or dismay, considering they were up to their necks in this fight. Despite the near overwhelming presence of the scourge, they didn’t seem to be making any headway.

“How long have you been fighting?” Byfrost sang as it clashed against the metal of a shield.

“Not long!” Darion seemed to be having trouble. “But...the longer I fight...the harder it becomes!” his chest was heaving, his shoulders tense and his arms trembling with the effort it took to wield his sword. A bestial snarl of frustration that turned into a cry of pain as he tried to push on. “ _Obey me, blade!_ ”

“We shouldn’t be here,” Thassarian was using his sword now mainly to defend his distracted commander. “What’s the purpose of this battle, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but it’s cleaned out the entire Acherus.” Koltira managed to cleave someone in half and paused for a second to appreciate the warm glow it filled him with before it turned to disgust and hunger again. “How many have fallen?”

“Too many.” Darion was kicking at something, trying to step over a body as he lashed out in fury with a weapon that seemed to be completely disconnected from his hands. “I think we should-”

“ _You cannot win, Darion_!”

Koltira looked up. He didn’t recognize the figure on horseback, but it was clear that the Highlord beside him did. As he approached, Darion wavered, then sank to his knees.

“It’s over.” was that tears in the human’s voice he heard? “Stop.”  

Koltira finally felt the ache in his muscles that he’d been trying to push aside, and dropped into the muck. Thassarian went to his side. If they were going to die now, it didn’t matter. He felt metal grind against metal as his lover wrapped strong arms around him, and he draped his head over the human’s shoulder, letting his eyes fall shut. He murmured an elvish blessing of love to their daughter, and then bowed his head.

She kicked, and his heart broke.

“Have you learned _nothing_ , boy? You have become all that your father fought against!” He only vaguely heard the older paladin railing against his commander; he was too preoccupied with his own suffering to feel much of anything for anything else right now.

Until Arthas suddenly materialized.

A cold wave of anger and hate and _amusement_ went through him. With a certain degree of awe, Koltira lifted his head and stared at their ruler. He could feel the emotions rolling off Arthas, and followed the icy blue light from his helm to the pair of men still standing on the battlefield - Darion, and the paladin with him.

“Touching…” the voice was like needles in his ear, like ice in his dead veins. Something screamed in Koltira’s head and the elf suddenly wondered why it had been _Darion_ leading this charge and not _Arthas_. If this was supposed to be the final battle, then why…

“You...betrayed me. You betrayed us all, monster!” Despite his rage, despite the fact that it appeared his sword was _finally_ obeying him again, the Lich King swatted him aside like an annoying gnat.

“Pathetic.”

The paladin moved to try and get to the fallen Death Knight, but didn’t get more than a step or two. “You’re a damned monster, Arthas!”

“You were right, Fordring. I _did_ send them in to die. Their lives are _meaningless_ , but yours...how simple it was to draw the great Tirion Fordring out of hiding. You’ve left yourself exposed, _paladin_. Nothing will save you.”

Everything was suddenly happening all at once again. The name _Tirion Fordring_ meant _something_ important, but it was immediately shoved aside by _he sent us here to die_ . _He was willing to throw_ all _of us into the pit just for his one...fucking…_

“TIRION!”

Koltira looked up. He’d clearly missed something; Darion was throwing his weapon at the paladin, who, upon catching it, raised it. As his commander collapsed again, the sword itself and Tirion seemed to undergo some sort of purification. The Light enveloped both of them, and when the elf could see again, the paladin was screaming and charging at Arthas.

The clash of metal-on-metal made his ears hurt and Thassarian beside him pulled him closer, watching in enraptured horror as the light and the darkness in front of them made their confrontation. It seemed for a moment as if Arthas would finally, _finally_ fall, but he managed to get out of the way and, spitting a few curses and threats, vanished.

The remaining Death Knights around them began to murmur and stir, some of them dropping their weapons and sagging into the muck.

Even Thassarian beside him seemed to come to his senses fully. He turned to Koltira, about to say something, when the screaming started.

Clearly, some of the Death Knights had been under a more potent form of mind-control than others. And now that they had been released _en masse_ , memories of what they had done began to overwhelm them.

Koltira counted himself cursed that he would forever be able to know what the scream of every race in Azeroth sounded like, for he could hear them now.

The anguished pitch to his left and behind him suddenly gave way to wet coughing and vomiting, and, wincing, he turned. It was the freckled Death Knight, on all fours like an animal, retching, her mouth open wide. With his own nausea rising, Koltira realized she had been screaming with such force that her throat had torn open. Blood leaked steadily from her mouth and formed a brighter pool that clashed with the effuse already mixing with battlefield destruction. He wanted to go to her, but was afraid he would only make it worse.

Tirion and Darion squelched over to her, the sucking mud nearly up to their ankles.

“Glorianne,” Tirion knelt at her side, and laid his hands on her. Light repaired her throat and restored her voice but before she could scream again, she started to cry. He pulled her up and gripped her like a father would his own child, and Koltira’s own hands went to his belly again, feeling his daughter moving non-stop. Perhaps she, too, was trying to reach out now. “It’s over, little one, it’s over, it’s done.”

“It will never be done…” her voice shook and trembled like reeds in the wind. “It’s _gone_ , Tirion, I’m _empty_ , I can’t hear it anymore…”

“Little one, the Light will never abandon us.” he still held her. Darion was reaching out, and took her hand. “He has taken too many. No more! The Argent Crusade will come for him, and soon.”

As Tirion let her go and moved to speak with others, Darion took both her hands and helped her to her feet. Thassarian was doing the same to Koltira, and the elf met the human’s eyes and cast his memory back to when she denied her name in that chamber. What must they have done to her, indeed.

“Koltira,” at last, the watery expression on her face changed a little.

“Ah, you can still smile.” the elf managed to get closer, helped by his impossibly strong human lover, until the four of them were mere inches apart. “That’s a good sign.”

Her laughter was weak, but still, it was there. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now…”

“Now? We join forces.” Darion explained. “We will be the Knights of the Ebon Blade, and we will take the Acherus from whatever evil forces still command it from beyond, and we will fight alongside our brothers and sisters among the living, and we will - “

“I want to go _home_ ,” Glorianne blurted out. Darion paused to look down at her. “I want to go home to Stormwind, I want to see my parents…”

“I...I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Thassarian managed.

“Don’t you want to see your family, too?”

“I...my sister, I don’t know if she…”

Koltira’s own family was dead, and so he paused before he spoke.

“If you go, we should come with you. If we go as a small company, we would be killed on sight, but if we go as three or four-” he looked at Darion, “we would be emissaries. Surely if we could procure some manner of proof from Fordring, we would be able to enter the Alliance capitals.”

“What of you?” Glorianne was steady enough to stand on her own now as Darion picked himself out of the mud to go and see about Tirion, “I remember…”

“Don’t force it.” he gently gripped her shoulder. “My family is dead. My people are half-gone by now. The remaining High Elven people are trying to rebuild, but they will not last long without the Sunwell. I fear for them, but I cannot go to them. Not like this.” he looked up at Thassarian. “I will go with you. I’m not _fucking_ leaving your side again, never, and you cannot convince me otherwise, and I’ll kill you if you try.”

“Well, when you put it like _that_ ,” the human tilted his head, and laughed awkwardly, and sighed. “I love you.”

“I know you do, you overgrown bramble-patch,” the elf retorted, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be concluded!


	9. Chapter 9

Elwynn forest was a beautiful, warm green, the colour of late summer and the smell of rich earth flooded his senses as Koltira rode astride the horse Darion had managed to acquire for him. Far from the unnatural screams of the Deathchargers they had ridden, these four horses were less likely to provoke a fear response. 

That would be, unfortunately, due to their riders. 

After the horses got used to carrying such unnatural passengers, they had moved along quite well. The high elf had a chestnut mare, thick and strong and able to carry him despite his now-unmistakable belly. With Blackburn utterly vanished (no one had seen him at all, and they could not get any information out of the Scourge they had scrubbed from the Acherus), he could only guess how far along he was. By his count, she had been growing with him for just over eight months now. By the account of every woman he’d managed to ask along their on-foot trip to Stormwind, he had about a month left before he asked a surgeon to take her out for good. 

He thought very little about the possibility of a second child. With Arthas finally stripped from his mind and exposed as the true nightmare he was, it was all Koltira could do not to claw open his belly and rid himself of whatever else shared his body with his baby girl. 

He supposed it might come to that, later. 

“I asked you a question.” came a voice from  beside him, and he blinked and turned. Glorianne was smiling up at him, shaking her head. “Oh, no. You’re lost in thought again.” 

“He does that.” Thassarian chuckled from Koltira’s other side, reassuring her. The three of them had foregone armor for this final leg of the journey, leaving their heavy plate in a pile when they realized it would cause just as much fear. None of them looked alive anymore (and Koltira had  _ never  _ looked human), but still, riding a normal horse and in simple leather and cloth should present them as less fearsome. 

Their blades were strapped to their backs, their cries subdued by early morning bloodshed. Koltira found it amusing that “the blood of the innocent” that Byfrost so craved, could be slaked by helping a farmer slaughter his steers quickly.  _ Probably not a loophole I’ll get for long _ . 

“I  _ want  _ an answer.” Glorianne persisted. He looked down at her again. She had put her hair up, tied it back, away from her face. All four of them had washed this morning in the river, scrubbed off every ounce of dirt and blood and looked presentable enough, even if they were walking corpses in good condition. “Have you come up with a  _ name  _ yet?” 

“No, actually.” he winced, glancing over at Thassarian. 

The human shrugged. “We keep going back and forth. It’s traditional to name a daughter after someone you love, if you don’t have something that you’ve already decided on.”

“I think it would be disrespectful to name her after any of our relatives,” Koltira shook his head. The light-hearted bickering helped fill the time until they rode past Goldshire and Darion had them halt when he could see the gates of Stormwind. 

“Gather up every ounce of courage you have.” he said, quiet, sad. He hadn’t been talking much on their journey, and though he was their leader, he seemed the most lost of all. “You’ll need it.” 

The four of them fell silent as they approached the wall. Guards spotted them coming and began to raise their weapons. 

“Please, let us pass!” Darion called as they fully came into focus. He lifted the hilt of his weapon; the Ashbringer that Tirion had cleansed and purified of its corruption a few weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime. “We are not here to challenge you.” 

Warily, the guards let them pass, though they did not sheathe their swords. Some of them jeered; a handful pushed forward, threatening. 

“You’ve got some nerve to come here, Scourge!” 

“I lost my whole family! You’re monsters!” 

Glorianne pushed a little closer to Koltira, pulling her hood up over her face. “I...I don’t know if I can do this…”

“You will  _ not  _ cry.” the high elf whispered to her, reaching over from his horse and swiftly pulling her in, “You will  _ not  _ feel shame. You have  _ survived _ , and you’re going to show them all. Right?” 

“Right.” her voice was wavering, but she straightened up a little more. 

It was harder once they were inside the city. Despite the lack of armor and trying to make themselves as nonthreatening as possible, they were met by jeers and screams of anger and fear. The guards continued to let them pass, but citizens threw things at them - bottles, rotten fruit, and Thassarian had to fend off a live chicken that someone had tossed at him. Its feet got tangled in his hair and he spent the better part of Old Town untangling the hissing, clucking demon from his head. 

Blessedly, it made their female companion laugh until she couldn’t sit up straight. Koltira wondered if his struggles were genuine, or if he was playing it up for her, but either way, it was away on the ground by the time they got to the keep. 

Here, the guards were less friendly. They had to pass quickly, and, after dismounting their horses, hurried up the long hallway to the throne room. 

Varian rose from his throne as the guards beside him brought him the message from the front gate, and he was on his feet when the four of them made their slow approach. Thassarian immediately knelt down, and Koltira tried, but wobbled, unbalanced with his large stomach. His kneeling quickly became a seated position, but he kept his head down. 

Darion approached, letter in hand, about to explain everything. “High King Wrynn, we-”

“That’s Blaze!” he had his swords in hand, coming at them. “What have you done with -  _ Glorianne _ ??” 

She had remained standing, and as Koltira looked up, she pushed back her hood. Despite their promise, she was now crying. Her tears had become wretched sobs again, but before she could collapse, the human king had dropped Shalamayne with a clatter to the floor and had pulled her into a pair of massive arms, holding her upright. “You came back.” a large hand on the back of her head, tucking her into his shoulder, keeping her steady. “You came back.” His voice broke a little, but he did not cry. 

Darion stared, then looked around, cautiously handing the letter to one of Varian’s advisors. It took both he and Thassarian to get the heavily-pregnant Koltira back onto his feet as the advisor took the king’s sleeve and got him to read the instructions from Tirion. 

“Please, ma’am, allow me,” someone had come over with a chair, and with an amused snort, Koltira sat himself down. 

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he inquired, and the servant jerked back in shock. “I assure you, I’m male.” 

“But...you…” 

“People of Stormwind! Citizens of the Alliance! Your king speaks!” the three of them looked up. Darion had moved to Varian’s other side. Glorianne was still crumpled against the king’s right, but Koltira could see the tearful smile under the darkness of her hood. “Today marks the first of many defeats for the Scourge! Death knights, once in service of the Lich King, have broken free of his grasp and formed a new alliance against his tyranny! You will welcome these former heroes of the Alliance and treat them with the respect that you would give any ally of Stormwind!” he paused, then shouted: “Glory to the Alliance!”

He was echoed by those in the throne room, and scribes and guards hurried to spread the word throughout the city. Varian came over to where Koltira had been seated against the wall, and looked between him and Thassarian. “You have my blessing to remain here, but you still have a  _ lot  _ of explaining to do.” he gave them a dubious look, though his relieved smile made him look a lot less threatening. 

“First, I want a hot bath - would you calm down in there for five minutes?” the high elf put a hand on his belly, feeling his daughter kick out. Varian’s eyes widened. “ _ And _ something good to drink,  _ and  _ a warm fire, and  _ then  _ we’ll tell you everything.”

 

_ Six months later _ …

 

“Koltira! Thassarian!” laughter from their doorway. The high elf came down the stairs, holding Thessali on his hip and calling back. 

“I’m coming! You’re just in time - she woke up from her nap a few minutes ago.” he beamed, letting the two women in. “Thassarian’s just out picking up some more supplies. Do you  _ know  _ how much soap we go through washing her diapers? It’s...alarming.” 

Glorianne laughed, and the woman beside her shook her head with a grin. “One of the benefits of not having children,” said the taller one, “is not having to do the washing afterwards.” 

“Luckily, Emily, we’ll never have to worry about that.” Glorianne took Tess from the high elf’s arm and sat down on a kitchen chair, playing with the baby and blowing on her tummy. 

The half-elven child went wild with giggles and squirming. “I’m so glad I’ll never be able to accidentally get her pregnant,” Emily admitted, “despite her protests, I think she loves being an auntie.” 

“Believe me, I never want to be pregnant again.” Koltira shook his head, standing in the doorway. “Did you want something to drink?” 

Emily shook her head. “I brought my own lunch.” with a smile, she began to unpack her small bag at the table, letting the baby girl hold a small spoon. 

“How’s my favourite elf?” he heard the familiar voice behind him, and sank back a little into Thassarian’s broad chest. He felt cold lips on the back of his neck and sighed happily. 

“I’m all right.” his eyes were shut, but his grin was so easy it felt like the only thing that he could do. 

“Just ‘all right’?” lips gave way to teeth and a small nip promised what would happen later when the baby was asleep and the girls had gone home. 

“For now.” Koltira turned and pushed his human lover playfully, and Thassarian chuckled as he put down the purchases he had made at the market, coming into the kitchen and greeting the two girls. 

Emily, the only other fully living person among them, quickly swallowed her food and greeted the tall man with a brief hug before they all sat down at the kitchen table. The mid-afternoon sunbeams came through the window and lit up the room like gold, and as Koltira eased himself into his cushioned chair, he felt the pang of the stitches across his belly once more. Without Blackburn, the healing hadn’t been so perfect. Light and arcane magics had helped, but he would carry the scar of her removal forever. 

Still, it was a small price to pay for a healthy, beautiful baby girl. By all accounts she was perfectly healthy, a half-elf with bright blue eyes and tiny pointed ears and a big, toothless grin. While they had been taking her out, they had found something else. Koltira had given swift instructions to “take everything out and keep only the living.” He had no regrets, and in their little home in Stormwind, no doubts about their future. 

Yes, Arthas was still out there. He was in Northrend now, they had heard, and soon there would be a campaign to bring the Lich King down once and for all. 

But for now, for now, Koltira could finally rest in peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to follow the story with me! It went in places I wasn't really expecting when I set out to write this. I'm very glad for the help and guidance I've gotten. I've learned a lot about the history of Azeroth because it turns out I had to do a lot more research than I'd thought! I'm still learning new things about how mechanics of this world work, but it's been a good journey. At this point there are no more spoilers; if there's a question you wanted answered that I didn't address, please leave a comment and I'll make sure to respond.


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